


Moss Rosebud

by Yuuki Miyaka (thegreatwordologist)



Category: Weiß Kreuz
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-12
Updated: 2012-05-12
Packaged: 2017-11-05 05:56:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/403155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegreatwordologist/pseuds/Yuuki%20Miyaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nagi begins to notice the beauty of the floral language.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moss Rosebud

It began with the flowers. Nagi found himself endlessly fascinated with the way the men in the Koneko would change them, mixing and matching blooms until they had completely unique creations. He tucked himself away across the street, trained eyes watching every move he could see as he sipped a mug of coffee and pretended to read another day's report of all the same news. He bought a couple of books at one point, wanting to know what it was they worked with, and which flowers each of the florists favored. And while he'd found a book that would tell him all that, he'd also discovered another book that told him something he hadn't realized. There was a language to the flowers, meanings held within those bouquets that were comprehensible, if one knew the code. So he'd studied twofold, putting that sharp mind of his to work on recognition and code memorization. By the time six months had passed without Schwarz interference in their lives, lulling the members of Weiß into a foolhardy peace, Nagi was able to tell the difference between those who knew what they had ordered in the shop and those who didn't. He laughed silently at the customers trailing out of the flowershop with a vase of flowers held proudly in their hands and complete ignorance of the insults that had just been made. This was a fun game.

The next step in Nagi's self-imposed entertainment was to learn the patterns and preferences of each florist. Bouquets were beginning to look to him like they had "fingerprints" all over them, certain choices made over and over that affected the meanings ever so slightly, and made the creations a unique style to the arranger. There were tones within the mixtures, careful contexts and subtexts that could lead him back to just who was doing the work as easily as a voice might lead him back to who was talking. So he watched, and he waited, taking each bouquet in and ignoring the occasional calls from an irritated Brad. He did his work and this was play. The man could let him have his fun. 

When he really started looking, the patterns were easy to see. Omi's bouquets were often either very sweet, or rather grumpy, and somehow, Ken's bouquets came across as sullen. There was a distanced feel from the swordsman, which left Nagi wondering if the man was capable of removing the stick from his ass long enough to get laid. But the bouquets that drew him ranged from charming to sensual to scathing. And if Nagi was to be honest with himself, it was those scornful insults that caught his attention the most.

Somewhere along the way, he'd transferred his attention to Yoji, watching the lean assassin with interest. He was warmth to Aya's ice, suave sophistication compared to Omi's bright naïveté and Ken's brash temper. And he seduced anything in a skirt. Which was, in Nagi's opinion, a very distinct problem. How, precisely, was one supposed to get close to a man who was not only an enemy, but also straight? That led to another month or so of watching, this time with careful consideration and various plans. Each plan Nagi came up with, he scratched, one after another. This plan was too bold, while that plan was completely unrealistic. Even finding a middleground left him with enough marks against his schemes to give them up, and all the time, he sat in that café, sipping his coffee and not-reading the newspaper.

Sometimes, he abandoned the plotting altogether for a half hour or so, enjoying instead the sight of the man and the occasional fantasy that everything really could be his. It wouldn't take much, after all - just one brainwashed Yoji. But that was cheating, and cheating was as far distanced from fair play as he was from Yoji right then. So he never spoke to Schuldig, and he never tried to work on the man himself. Instead, he simply enjoyed the few minutes outside that Yoji sometimes got. He watched Yoji light a cigarette, setting it between his lips and sucking air into his body. The very sight made Nagi melt with desire, holding him only until he got back to his bedroom in the apartment he shared with Schwarz. Only once he was there, tucked safely away in his little haven with Schuldig chuckling in his mind, did he give into the need, summoning fantasies of those long fingers touching him. It was never enough, though.

And then Nagi started to notice something _else_. Yoji seduced every woman who walked through that door, leaving her with promises of dates and possibly a little more as he batted those impossibly green bedroom eyes of his. But he never actually went on those dates... There were no women waiting for him when he went out drinking, no high heels and mini-skirts that suggested a redhead with entirely too much hair. Nothing at all. Just Yoji gone to a bar or club, nursing his drink and watching what dancers there were in dispassion.

Still, how was he to approach this fantasy-man of his? If Yoji were a woman, Nagi imagined it would've been so much simpler, which just proved his own innocence in situations of love. He contemplated the typical gifts of chocolates, but the assortments left him hesitant. What message would he be sending if he sent an assortment of nut-filled candies? Was there more meaning behind dark chocolate than milk chocolate? Did one read chocolates as they read flowers, searching for the hidden code within the fillings? Realizing his own ignorance and uncertainty, Nagi turned to the one thing he knew they shared.

He made the arrangements for the single flower through a separate florist, knowing that otherwise, Weiß would quickly be up in arms at each other. Only one flower was to be delivered, without filler. No note, no clues for him as to who it was from. Just a single moss rosebud, the flower for love confessions. When it was delivered, Nagi made certain to be at the café, sipping his pointless drink while the newspaper lay spread over the entire table. And Nagi himself, busy and nervous, was paying not a whit of attention to the paper or the drink. His eyes were on the flower shop, waiting for an answer he was afraid to hear.

When the answer came, however, it was brought to his table at the café. No telling when Yoji had noticed his attention, or how often he'd been watched in turn. He couldn't fault them, and it was good to know that they were wary enough to protect themselves yet. The man who brought the flower set it down on Nagi's table, bowing and leaving to collect his tip from Yoji as Nagi stared at the stalk with its little bits of flowering gold. It took him several moments to identify it, and the message it carried, and when his head jerked up, there was Yoji, standing in the doorway of the Koneko and nodding to him, a warm smile on his face.

_Ambrosia_

_Love returned._

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written for a writing challenge on Livejournal. You can find the livejournal comm here:
> 
> http://5trueloves.livejournal.com


End file.
